


Not Even Death

by Contesa_lui_Alucard



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of will to live, Major character death - Freeform, Pregnancy, Safe For Work, kind of happily ever after, rated M for themes of death and depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contesa_lui_Alucard/pseuds/Contesa_lui_Alucard
Summary: Kylo Ren dies in battle, leaving you behind. They told you to be proud, he died a valiant death, but where is the pride in death?
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Kudos: 21





	Not Even Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of Happily Ever After. I'm sorry.

_He went down fighting_ , they said. _A true warrior, even at the end,_ they proclaimed. _You should be proud,_ they cajoled, _he died a brave death._ Proud? _Proud_? The man you love is _dead_ , there is _nothing_ to be proud of. 

There is no pride in death.

There is no pride in leaving the woman you love behind, left to figure out how to continue living in a world where you no longer exist. 

Where is the pride in telling someone that they are now alone?

There is no pride in curling up on a cold, empty bed, that will never again be occupied by the body that always kept it so full of life and warmth. Where is the pride in being reminded of the man who will never again occupy it?

There is no pride in walking the halls you used to walk together, in visiting the places you used to visit together, and seeing slivers of memories you’ll never get back.

Where is the pride in sitting down to eat at the table you once shared, with nothing but the silverware for company?

They may call it proud, but nothing about any of this fills you with any kind of pride. Nothing fills you at all, _nothing,_ no warmth, no love, no joy, nothing fills the empty cavity of your chest, not even The Force. 

The Force used to, faintly, just the barest of whispers. He’d felt it, found it inside of you, and tried to help you nurture it. Taught you how to locate it, both within yourself and in the world around you. He even taught you how to find it in him. 

The day he died, you tuned it out, turned it off, unable to bear the thought of reaching out and finding nothing. _Nothing._

_You were left with nothing._

Oh, except for pride, right? You were supposed to be left with pride. But pride felt suspiciously like devastation.

Pride didn’t hold you close at night in it’s big, strong arms while you sobbed into what used to be his pillow.

Pride didn’t run its large, firm hands across your back while you vomitted into the toilet, when the horrible sorrow twisting your stomach into knots finally became too much to bear. 

Pride didn’t remind you to drink enough water, or to eat all of your meals. Pride didn’t implore you to take good care of yourself, because your health and happiness meant more to it than anything else in the galaxy.

And pride certainly couldn’t carry you to med bay when you finally collapsed of dehydration three weeks after pride took the place of your man. 

It was hard to care about recovering, hard to muster the strength to accomplish it, with no one there to care if you did. He died a proud warrior, but you laid dying frail in a hospital bed. Luckily, there was no one to mourn your death, so there was no need for pride. 

The med droid put you on fluids, took blood, ran tests. You didn’t listen, just laid still and let it work on you. A few days later, you were back in your quarters, no longer dehydrated, but just as fatigued, and just as miserable.

You dropped onto your bed, pressed your face into his pillow, and—

And you decided, instead, to reach out. 

You closed your eyes, flipped onto your back, and breathed, just as he had taught you. 

_Nothing._ Nothing but you, and this empty room, and your gifted pride.

It was a few days before you tried again.

Silent, alone in your bed, you lay on your back with eyes closed and reached out.

Sorrow, nothing but sorrow slithered through your grasp.

Another few days passed before you rallied once more.

This time you sat up, crossed your legs as the two of you used to do together, side by side, face to face. You closed your eyes, steadied your breaths, and—

Life, death, joy, violence, and in between it all—

_balance._

But it was short-lived. Sorrow got the better of you, and the balance was lost.

So the next day, you tried again.

And again.

And again.

Until the balance, the Force, surrounded you, thrummed through you, filled your chest, filled your—

_My Love?_

Your eyes shot open wide at the sound of his voice, a voice you hadn’t heard in almost two months, a voice you never thought you’d hear again, if only in your dreams.

He knelt before you, awash in a blue glow, eyes hopeful as he met your gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words could barely come, choked on disbelief and devastation, brimmed with unfathomable hope, “Kylo?”

He broke, right before your eyes. Broke down in tears that didn’t fall, heaved air he didn’t breathe. Grabbed for you with hands that held no warmth, pulled you in with arms that didn’t ripple with muscle, into a chest that didn’t beat with the steady strum of his heart.

But you collapsed into him all the same.

_I’m sorry, _he sobbed, _I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.___

__You wrapped your arms around the mass of him, fingers digging into shoulder blades that didn’t flex, holding his ghostly visage tightly to you. Protective, needy, relieved._ _

__Hopeful._ _

__“Kylo. . .” nothing else would come, no other words, just a broken utterance of his name. But he knew, words held little meaning between you both, even in life. Actions, eyes, hearts spoke volumes louder than words ever could._ _

__He knew what it was you wanted to say, and he would answer, he’d tell you everything, he’d tell you what happened, he’d tell you what he now was._ _

__He’d tell you how he watched you, helpless and heartbroken, powerless to protect you, as you wasted away. He’d tell you how he screamed, cried, _begged_ everything, anything, the Force, the gods, whoever would listen, _pleaded_ with them to let him return to you._ _

__Especially. . ._ _

__Especially when he felt the new Force signature, the new life, beginning to stir within you._ _

__He’d tell you everything, he would, soon, in a moment, but first. . ._ _

__First he needs to hold you, needs to feel the warmth of your skin, even through the Force. Needs to run ghostly hands down the length of your back until the sobs subside, to comfort you until you’re no longer choking on emotion. Needs to lay you down in the bed you shared and tuck you into his embrace, rest your head on his now still chest, and tell you how much he loves you, forever, forever, forever._ _

__

__There is no pride in death, but there is pride in holding the one you love close, and telling them _nothing_ will ever keep them from you, _ _

__not even death._ _

**Author's Note:**

> The "HEA" is that he just lives forever with you as a force ghost.


End file.
